Hitherto and Into Eternity
by Meixia
Summary: Draco...Ron...kidnapping, and um, hipbones. Yeah. R&R please.


For Emmy: See, this is a fic. No, I swear, it is! It might not be very good, but I think I did all right. Anyway, lots of love for the holidays, have fun, merry reading and all that. Lets hope this doesn't suck. And please don't kill me if I get some things wrong.  
  
  
  
  
  
Hitherto and Into Eternity  
  
By Meixia Final Completion - 12.5.02, 12:07 p.m.  
  
Hipbones. Knobby, chiseled and prominent in their pale opalescence, and fragile, as if the slightest fingerprint would shatter it to imperfection. Carved like a statue in the finest ivory prisms from the hand of a god, and he's looking at it, holding it, cupping it with his palm. Silk, relief like cool water to his scathed hands, fingers that have touched blood and nails that are chipped to the skin, and this, he is allowed to touch this.  
  
He doesn't see him as an angel, although with the fiery hair and the luminous eyes and the sheer height and gangling grace, he could easily be mistaken for one. Because beauty comes in many shapes and forms, and Draco has watched him humiliate himself with awkward arms and legs, limbs that wouldn't stop flailing and feet that wouldn't stop tripping. But he has witnessed that certain odd beauty turn into something completely different. He's watched him grow into a man, seen him finally detach himself from Harry and stand on his own two feet. Independent, free, and vulnerable to the world. Vulnerable to Draco.  
  
But Draco had observed from the corners and doorways of time, and one day he had seen enough to know. Ron had grown up and levitated away from his teasing and insults. Draco's pretty sure there was a time when he had ceased to exist in Ron Weasley's mind.  
  
And this was fueling a fire inside him, so what else was a slightly mad and arrogant and pissed off Malfoy supposed to do but act in a rash and selfish manner?  
  
It wasn't like Draco had swooped into Ron's room and plucked him out of bed on the last night of their stay at Hogwarts like an evil wizard riding on his bewitched broomstick, and it wasn't like Ron didn't enjoy it. For all the kicking and screaming and damn you, Malfoys, it was still worth it. One last encounter with Weasley, and Draco hoped it would be enough to purge himself of his infatuation.  
  
It is probably one of the most important nights of their lives. To Draco it remains a glowing ember in the chaotic whirl of memories.  
  
Ron's first reaction was outrage, then plain anger, but when Draco had finally landed them safely on the banks of an acceptably glistening lake, Ron was stunned into silence. After all, it was rather unusual for them to converse at the time, much less Draco suddenly kidnapping him.  
  
'I expect an explanation.' Ron had intoned in his most authoritative voice, but that wasn't much.  
  
And how stupid Draco must've looked, because he surely felt like it. Imagine, a Malfoy sinking so low? Why had he done such an idiotic thing, and how could he expect Ron to even begin to understand the sheer, heavy weight he had been carrying in his heart for years? For him? For a Weasley? Which was rather poetic, if they had been star-crossed lovers.  
  
But nothing was ever as simple as that.  
  
'Please, spare me the whining. Here.' Draco had untied the extra cloak he was wearing that night from around his neck and threw it at Ron.  
  
Ron had caught it with numb, reluctant hands, but it was better than freezing from the chill wind carried by the lake. He had eyed Draco suspiciously, but wrapped it around himself nonetheless. And Draco had never been more ecstatic in his life it was ridiculous.  
  
The house patch was drawing his eyes towards it, and he had thought, had literally stood there and tapped his foot in deep concentration upon the precipice of a revelation. Scenes plucked from a possible past, something like deja-vu, but it had never, ever happened, Draco could be sure of that, and yet it still felt right, what he was seeing. Maybe truly seeing Ron for the first time, all the potential there, including the short fuse and strong independence that could be channeled into greater power.  
  
It was oddly breathtaking. Made Draco stop for a moment. Just to watch; a second stolen from time that wouldn't be missed or noticed.  
  
'We need to talk.' Draco had flipped his hair back, nose in the air, and turned on his heel until his back faced Ron. The certain pose was like a security blanket. 'Or rather, I need to talk.'  
  
Ron had sighed exaggeratedly, a big puff of air that had tightened the wire around Draco's lungs and squeezed. Not in a million years had Draco seen this coming, this - effect - that Ron would have on him, but he wasn't going to back out of it.  
  
When Ron made no noise to continue, Draco did anyway.  
  
'I think you should leave wizarding behind after this. You know, magic and potions and wands. The whole lot.'  
  
'What?!' It was a rather forced exclamation, but the absurdity of Draco's words was just that: absurd.  
  
'You're not cut out for this, Weasley. You never were and you won't ever be. Just face it.'  
  
Yes, he thought, make him go away. Purge him from your mind, degrade him, and think of him as a Muggle and not a wizard. Anything so that he'd loose his appeal, whatever it might've been that was driving Draco crazy.  
  
'What in the blazes are you going on about, Malfoy? I'll have you know I'm very practiced and skilled in many different things, and I certainly don't need you telling me what I should or shouldn't be doing.' Ron's petulant pout and glare bore into Draco's back, and Draco hadn't even been facing him and he had still felt it. He'd wondered if Ron knew how endearing that outraged look of his was.  
  
'Is this what you brought me out here for? No,' Ron had made a shushing gesture and rubbed his temple, 'Nevermind. It's too late and I can't even think straight.'  
  
That damned constricting wire had snapped, and it was like a mental blow that sent him reeling.  
  
The fair haired Slytherin turned back to face Ron again, saw him, saw Ron in his cloak, somehow and only now fully existing in Draco's world. An integral part of it. Like a part of the puzzle slipping into place.  
  
Draco had had his first glimpse of the future that night. It came and whacked him right upside the head.  
  
And he knew, more than anything else in his life, that Ron Weasley was going to be in it.  
  
Now, years away from the past and it's still chasing them at times, sore spots that never heal entirely, scabs that never stop itching to be picked - all of the past is there. But they don't let it interfere with what they have now, and Draco doesn't let it haunt him. He's not a failure, although in his father's eyes, he thinks he always will be. He hasn't disgraced anyone, and even if he has, he won't care enough to notice.  
  
But he's aged, and his hair isn't as healthy as it used to be, the skin on his forearms now dusted and bronzed to a light golden color. He can still fit into his clothes from his last year at Hogwarts, which means he's still exceptionally tall and hasn't gained any weight. Ron still has reason enough to tease him about his slender form.  
  
Ron has aged too, but his skin has remained perfectly unmarred and pale as fresh cream. His hair has gotten a bit unruly, but it retains its natural red flair.  
  
And Draco has been touching that hair and that skin and kissing that mouth, for over thirty years.  
  
Now, he's reminiscing far too much, caught up in the spider-webs that tangle in his head. The good laced with the bad in little pearls of love, strung together by the finest thread.  
  
And he's not alone.  
  
Because Ron's skin is still unblemished by his hands, by his inherent evil. Draco can still feel him, everywhere. And though he was Slytherin, is a Malfoy, a little red and gold never seemed to hurt the green and silver blood flowing through his veins.  
  
END 


End file.
